The Lament of the Sea God
by silenceandsarcasm
Summary: A story of Percy's conception from the POV's of Poseidon and Sally - their differing views on everything from how they first met to the relevation of Poseidon's identity.


**The Oath, Broken Again.**

I never meant to break the oath. I never meant to cause the same amount of discord on Olympus that was created when my foolish brother sired poor Thalia. I never meant to become the father of Percy Jackson.

But when I saw her for the first time – walking alone down that beach, hunched over against the wind and hands in pockets to protect them from the bitter cold – I knew that she was different from the hordes of other mortal women that I had seen in my existence. Something special.

She used to walk down the same stretch of beach every day, and after that fateful day I found myself making a point of waiting there for her to trudge by; if only just to watch this queen among women.

I admired so many things about her – her cool blue eyes, her lustrous brown hair, and her face that to me was more beautiful than any child of Aphrodite's. In that face I could see all her suffering and past misfortunes so clearly, like my sister Hestia after Dionysus took her throne – but she seemed to irradiate strength and will.

I didn't realise that she could see through the Mist until I brought my trident to the beach one day. To most regular mortals my symbol of power must appear to be a simple staff, or perhaps a fishing pole – who knows? I am not mortal. But her – she glanced up in my direction whilst partaking in her daily walk one fateful afternoon – and stopped in her tracks. She did a double-take. Blinked hard and stared in disbelief at my trident, as though she were sure that her eyes were deceiving her. Then she started to walk towards me.

If it was possible for one of the most senior gods on Olympus to be flustered, then I was at that moment. With every step closer that she took I could see her flawless – well, flawless to me – beauty in ever more detail. Her troubled blue-grey eyes; the freckles dotted haphazardly across her small, straight nose; the creases by her eyes which were the permanent reminder of the few happy times that she had enjoyed in her life. She was perfect in her imperfection – and I had to fight to stop my eyes glazing over in her presence.

"Uh, excuse me for asking, sir," she asked tentatively, "I don't mean to be nosy, but, uh... is that a _trident?_" The last words she spoke were punctuated with awe; but her voice sounded uncertain, as though she were unable to decide whether I was going to a fancy dress party, whether her eyes were still playing tricks on her, or whether I was just the average eccentric that you had the misfortune to come across from time to time. I decided that honesty was the best policy – if she could see through the Mist, there was no point lying to her, and she was owed an explanation for all the monsters she had seen in her lifetime.

"Yes, ma'am, it is." Her eyes widened with wonder, filled with questions. I told her everything – about how I was the god of the sea, the earth-shaker, the storm-bringer, the father of horses; about the other Olympians; about Western Civilisation and how the heart of Olympus moves over the millennia; and, most importantly, how it was all real.

She still looked unsure of whether to believe me, silently judging in her mind whether I was lying or playing a cruel practical joke. I pointed my trident at the ground and a few drops of sea water splashed out of it and onto the pebbles beside me. She looked down at the drops and then up and me, as though questioning my logic. At that moment the drops fused together into a solid mass, growing and becoming opaque until they formed a magnificent white stallion. He stood, pawing the ground with his hooves for a moment whilst she patted it vaguely, astonished – before galloping out to sea. The moment its hooves splashed the waves, the beautiful horse dissolved into sea foam and was washed out to open water.

After a moment of silence impregnated with tension, she opened up and told me of all the monsters she's seen as a child, how she has seen some sort of snake woman – "A dracaena," I prompted – climb into the cockpit of the plane the day her parents died, but didn't speak up because no one would have believed her. She told me that the decision still haunted her to this day – she could have saved the two teenagers that didn't recognise the monster till the plane was in flight and engaged it in combat with funny bronze swords, and, ultimately, a whole plane full of people when those teenagers had been overcome.

She told me of the Cyclops she'd seen at a bus stop when she was thirteen. It was glaring maliciously at three girls around her age, who kept glancing warily at it and conversing with each other in low, frantic whispers. She told me of the time when she was seventeen and she saw a strange stray dog prowling the streets outside her uncle's apartment – but it was much, much bigger than a regular dog. It was jet black with fiery red eyes that glowed with hatred, teeth like the largest, sharpest daggers since the dawn of time, and a rumbling growl which shook the ground and rattled the windows in their panes. She told me everything.

I told her of how rare, special, but potentially dangerous her gift was; and that people like her were almost certain to do great things in their lifetimes. She laughed sadly at this, saying –

"Well, I haven't exactly had the best start in life – but I'm always hoping that something good's going to happen in the future. Something that will more than make up for all the crap life's thrown at me for the last twenty-seven years." She paused for a moment, as if embarrassed by the next thing she was about to say – the nine words that would change so many lives, that sent the ichor pumping through my veins faster than it had ever done in the two or so millennia of my existence.

"I think you might be one of those things."

It happened quickly – too quickly – after that. She invited me back to her apartment; but of course, I ended up staying much longer than that. In the morning, I woke up and an unimaginable pang of guilt and terror hit me like a thunderbolt. I had broken my oath; and as a result this beautiful woman and her poor innocent child would never be safe. And if the child did survive to his teens, then there was the great prophecy that would affect his life further. What kind of father brings so much ill fate and responsibility on their unborn child? The shame washed through me like a tsunami.

I looked upon the still sleeping form of my love. I had just brought yet another misfortune into her life, the opposite of what she was hoping for. I cursed Nemesis for being so blind. Goddess of 'balance' my trident!

Turning my eyes to the heavens, I sensed that Zeus would be angered beyond imagination at my act. Of course, that would make him a hypocrite – but that had never concerned my brother before, so why should it now? I felt terrible sadness when I realised that I must leave – to spare her from Zeus' wrath. She had already suffered enough.

Finding a pen and a pad of paper, I wrote a letter to my beloved explaining and apologising for everything I had done. I then walked out of new mother-to-be Sally Jackson's apartment, assumed my godly form, and prepared to face the wrath of the gods.

O-o

Although it has caused me countless panic, worry and sacrifice over the years, I will never regret the day I met Poseidon, and, subsequently, the birth of my son.

When I saw the sea god for the first time on the beach that fateful day, I never knew that one tiny decision could change my life forever – and create another one in the process.

It had been the first clear winter day that we'd had in a while, so I had decided to go for a walk. The wind was bitter and fierce so that it stung my cheeks as it whipped mercilessly around me – but it refreshed me, blowing the cobwebs out of my head after so many days cooped up in my comfortable but small apartment. As I was stomping my way alongside the receding surf, a car alarm went off somewhere to my left, piercing the air with its shrill squealing. Instinctively I glanced upward in the sound's direction – and my eyes found _him_.

Standing there, no more than ten metres away from me, was the sea god – though I was not to realise this at the time. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, baggy khaki shorts, flip-flops and sun shades – which confused me for a moment, with the bitter wind that felt like it would level everything in its path. In the end I concluded that he probably didn't feel the cold that much. My gaze then turned to his face. He had a sort of rugged beauty about him – with his windswept curly black hair and beard, deep tan and laugh lines on his face. When he took his shades off to wipe them clean I saw piercing bright green eyes which soon returned my gaze. I quickly looked away – though without embarrassment - and continued on my way.

I decided to visit the same stretch of beach the next day at the same time to see if the beautiful stranger was a regular visitor. Sure enough, he was; and without realising it my beach walk became part of my daily routine.

After about a week came that fateful day when he brought his trident with him. When I took my daily glance at the mysterious man, I noticed that he was holding some kind of giant fork. I did a double take, and realised it looked a little more like that three-tipped spear in my history books from my school days – what was it called again? – Ah, yes, a trident. After making quite sure that my eyes weren't deceiving me, I decided to ask the stranger about it – a question that would change my life forever.

When he told me that he was Poseidon, Greek god of the sea, I thought that he was crazy. OK, it explained the trident, but the Greek gods were mere myth – and even if they were real, I wouldn't have expected them to look like this strange man. He went on to explain about the other gods on Olympus, and how Olympus itself moves along with Western Civilisation. It made a little more sense, but I still couldn't quite believe him. It must've shown on my face, because he lowered his trident to the ground, and a few drops of water spilled out of the tip of each prong. What was that meant to do?

At that moment, I blinked – so I must have missed the transformation; but there, standing before me, was a huge white stallion where the water had fallen. He was beautiful – with a pearly white coat and a long, silky mane and tail. In a daze I reached out to stroke the horse's face – mainly to check if it was real. And indeed it was; I could feel the smooth velvety skin on his muzzle, and his hot breath as he blew onto my hand. I lowered my hand, and the horse galloped past me towards the sea. The minute his hooves were splashing the waves, he disappeared back into the sea foam and was washed out to open ocean.

I certainly believed him after that. I told him about all of my past experiences with monsters and the like, and my regrets from the past. It was so relieving in a way – he was the only one I could talk to about all the terrible and strange things I had seen in my lifetime without fear of him thinking that I had lost my mind. After talking to him for five minutes, I felt a love for him that could not be matched by any man – except, perhaps, for Paul Blofis, fifteen years later.

Within the next five minutes, I had invited him back to my home. It seemed so wrong; then again I still couldn't _quite_ believe that I had talked to the god of the sea – but it couldn't help but feel right. In a way I knew what would happen – the evening would go well, and we'd end up spending the night together; but he would have to leave in the morning due to his godly duties. I was almost right when I read the note he left in his place, when I awoke the next morning to find that he had left.

His apologies were in vain – it should be me who should be apologising, for I did not know of the oath he had made with his brothers. _I_ should have been more careful, not him. I read his warning of the danger our poor child and I would be in in the future. It did not bother me – I had experienced plenty of troubles in my lifetime, so more would not be much of a surprise or much of a problem. I did not see how my unborn child could not lead as normal a life as they possibly could. In fact, I would make sure that he was protected and treated in such a way so that he could experience the childhood that I could not.


End file.
